


The familiar but oddly altered scent

by Annvian



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Crying, Crying During Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Older Jaskier | Dandelion, Oral Sex, Pinned down Jaskier, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Rough Sex, Scenting, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annvian/pseuds/Annvian
Summary: It's more than a decade since Geralt saw Jaskier the last time. The Witcher is wandering The Path as usual.After one hunt just like many before, he is on his way to collect his coin while he perceives a well-known but slightly different scent.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 232





	The familiar but oddly altered scent

_He lays on the side, his breath comes heavily and his heartbeat accelerates. A big pale hand rests on his upper leg and shoves it towards his stomach. The hand rests on his leg for a short moment, wanders to his thigh and strokes it gently. Then he feels another hand, fingers slippery, touching his buttcheeks and spreading them._

_As one finger enters him his heart jumps and warmth glitters through his whole body. He sighs and moves in the slow rhythm of the finger gliding in and out. He feels his cheeks flushing a moment after his cock starts hardening._

_Suddenly there’s one more finger and he answers with more moaning. A satisfied low growl is the response from the end of the bed. The fingers pushing deeper and the movement speeds up._

_He’s trying to move, turning on his back so he has a better view of the scenery in front of him. He feels the now firm grip on his thigh and is pinned to the bed._

_“No. Stay.” Is the brusque command and he obeys, feeling a pleasant shiver down his spine. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warm hand on his thigh, the fingers inside of him._

_“Please.” A hard thrust makes him moan loud and his voice cracks. He whimpers with pleasure and starts again. “Please fuck me now. Please …”_

*

“… Geralt!” Jaskier awakes with the name on his lips. He is alone in his bed, the sheets are twisted and a bit wet. He looks down and recognizes he’s fully hard. Jaskier sighs, his head falls back into the pillow. When he closes his eyes he can almost feel Geralt’s hands, hear his voice and see the glow of lust in his amber eyes.

The corners of his eyes get moist and he senses tears running down his face. _Oh, Geralt._ _Where could you be now?_ His cock gets slowly flabby and the warm feeling of desire and _something more_ leaves Jaskier. Why does he think about Geralt so much? They haven’t met for… ages.

He finally manages to get up, pushes away his thoughts about the long gone past. As he stands, he feels a stinging pain in the small of his back and he groans. He rubs his muscles and tries to wake them up. A stinging in the back, in the legs or another part of his body is his regular companion now.

 _Welcome and good morning, my dear friend, and fuck off._ But the bard is aware that his _ever escort_ , like he’s calling it, probably won’t leave him today and even if it does it will come back soon enough.

He dresses, washes his face and looks down into the water. The man who is watching back looks like past his prime. His neatly trimmed beard already went a bit grey, his temples show silver strands. Around the eyes have appeared a lot of wrinkles, but, as always, the cornflower blue shines full of cheerfulness.

Jaskier sighs deeply, slaps the water and turns away. His best times seem to be long over; all the months and months traveling with Geralt, going on adventures, defeating monsters and writing songs about the glorious hunts. And of course the hugging and kissing and fucking together.

Now he is professor in Oxenfurt and feels just simply so old. And empty. Sometimes he wishes to leave his life at the university behind and go on a long journey again. But his damn _ever escort_ seems to have an objection way too often.

At least, every now and then he has the chance to travel and wander through the lands. These times he is leaving his everyday life behind for a few weeks. A life of teaching and discussing with students about rhyming schemes and the perfect word to describe the light in the early morning. For these weeks he takes his lute and some time for singing old and new songs, sleeping in inns and visiting longstanding friends.

Except one.

Jaskier glances shortly at his lute next to his bed. Then he leaves his room to find the innkeeper of _The Crooked Weasel_ and something to eat. As he enters the taproom, there is the innkeeper’s daughter behind the bar and smiles at him.

“Morning. What can I get you, handsome?” She awaits his answer and even winks at him.

Did she mean… _him_? She looks really young to him, like a curvaceous fairy, but still young. She couldn’t possibly mean him. Jaskier lets his eye wander but he is the only guest in the room. He clears his throat.

“Good morning. Yeah, you can, my sweet child.” _Child?_ Why does he suddenly sound like an old woman speaking to her granddaughter? Or maybe he just forgot how to flirt properly?

“My name is Myra.” She informs him nicely.

“Um, yeah. Well, Myra.” He gives her his best bard-smile. “Breakfast would be very nice.” She nods, walks to the kitchen and while she gets something to eat, Jaskier says “Tonight I’ll give a performance here in the tavern again. Will you also be there?”

She comes back with a plate full of egg, bacon and delicious looking bread with butter. Once more, she gives Jaskier a warm smile.

“Of course I’m here. I don’t want to miss any of your performances, blue eyes.”

Jaskier takes the plate from her and smiles back more confidently than a few moments before. Maybe today was going to be a good day, like most days long time ago.

*

Geralt of Rivia walks a street in a more or less small town in Temeria, Roach’s reins in one hand. It’s a chilly summer afternoon, clouds covering the sun. Cold mud covers his armor and hair, flies and mosquitos circle around him. Besides, there is blood between the dirt, mostly from the monsters he has slaughtered. He feels a bit tired after the fight against around a dozen Nekkers. The alderman of this town has told him there were a few Nekkers terrifying the nearby villages. _A few_!

The moment Geralt killed the Nekker with the red face, a lot of his kind appeared in the area and attacked the Witcher. In the end he got them all and destroyed the empty nest.

Now then he has a bag full with Nekker-heads as proof for the alderman so he will get his coin. The bag is attached to the saddle, blood dripping slowly from it. He wants to deliver the package and search for a meal and a bed as soon as possible.

In the street he currently passes he can see a house with a swinging sign, a fox or a red ferret curving around an ale pot on it, and he promises himself to come back later.

The moment Geralt walks by the tavern a familiar but oddly altered scent fills his nose. He stops and inhales deeply. It smells like warm wood, smooth silk and a very specific kind of human; like the ones laying in a field of wild flowers in the late summer, a blade of grass in their mouth, only enjoying themselves in this perfect moment.

Geralt’s heart makes a small flustered jump. He knows exactly whose scent _that_ has to be. But something is different. Underneath is a darker aroma, more mature. Besides, it smells similar to a withering flower which needs only a little fresh water. Maybe he mistakes the scent? He sniffs again, but it’s vanished. His heartbeat goes back to normal.

Roach snorts, thick blood dripping out of the saddlebag.

“Yes, we leave.” Geralt gazes at the tavern one last time and frowns, then turns around and continues on his way. He’ll come back later anyway.

Both the paper and the table cloth slowly suck themselves full with blood. The bag stinks of old body fluids and dirt.

“What do you mean, there was a whole tribe? I… I didn’t know!” The alderman shots a nervous glance at Geralt. His hands shiver as he counts the coins.

Geralt recognizes the sour cold sweat of a lie under his words. He doesn’t say a word.

“We said… 200?”

“250.” He silently stares him down and awaits his payment.

The elderly man hesitates, then he takes more coins from his purse and puts them on the table. Geralt takes it and turns to the door.

Suddenly he hears another person in his back. It’s a young boy speaking, curiosity in his voice. “There… there is a bard in _The Crooked Weasel_ ; he’s singing from you. You… are the Witcher Geralt of Rivia, aren’t you?”

Geralt stops and turns his head to watch him from the corner of his eye. “Hm.” He nods once and waits for the boy to keep on talking. The child comes to him, ignoring the alderman’s hand trying to hold him back.

“I can show you the way, you know? Because… perhaps you don’t know it. The way. Because you are not from here.” Light green eyes watching the Witcher not only slack-jawed, but also helpfully and carefully.

Geralt sighs. He knows this expression pretty well. He will never ever get rid of this lad. He gives the boy a nod and grunts. “Tell me about the bard.”

“She sold him her legendary beef stew, and then Stan vomited all over the place.” Pyp, as the boy has introduced himself, jumps around Geralt while he is telling him everything about everybody in the town. Geralt already knows that his auntie Isaline broke up with his uncle Jorne; that nobody should buy stuff in blacksmith Ulket’s shop, and that the at the town’s edge all by herself living old woman is evidently a witch. Everyone knows _that_.

Geralt only answers mumbled _Hms_ and _Mhms_ , but it’s obviously all right for Pyp to take care of the talking for both of them. On the way back to the tavern time drags longer with every second.

“Boy.” Geralt interrupts Pyp’s flood of words with a growl. “The bard.” Without any sign of uncertainty Pyp changes the subject.

“Well, I really like his voice. Like most of the people here. He is a professor from Oxenfurt, you know. And he is so… _old_!” Geralt’s mouth twitches in amusement. What would that child think about his age when a man in his late 50s already seems to be unbelievably old?

“And very brainy.” Pyp’s eyes get an almost reverential gleam. “He comes every season and stays a few days in _The Crooked Weasel_. Every day he gives a performance, and afterwards he tells many stories about monsters and mighty heroes.” He glances at Geralt. “And of course he tells stories about you. The White Wolf.” His voice suddenly drips from awe.

Geralt nods and looks at the boy. “What’s his name; you know that?”

“Professor Pankratz. Or Jaskier, when he is performing.” Although Geralt has already been aware that _the bard_ is none other than Jaskier, he feels a tremble. Of excitement? Of fear? He isn’t entirely sure.

The boy doesn’t notice anything of it and keeps talking.

Finally they reach the inn. It’s early evening, there are only a couple of habitants entering the tavern. Geralt gives Roach to Pyp. “Hold her.”

Pyp is staring at him, takes the ribbons and doesn’t move an inch. Geralt heads for the door of the tavern. After he has paid for one room, he comes back out, brings Roach to the nearby stable and parts with Pyp. The boy takes leave with a wishful expression on his face.

Geralt welcomes the peaceful silence. He takes some time to comb down Roach and think about the last time he has spoken to Jaskier.

It was more than a decade ago on a dragon hunt with Yennefer and professional monster hunters. He has said some nasty and obviously false – today he knows _that_ for sure! – things to the bard. Not only that, but he has basically chased him away like a straying cat causing nothing but trouble.

Jaskier has left him and never came back. Geralt has quickly regretted what he has said, and wanted nothing more but to apologize. He actually has tried to track Jaskier down, but clearly the man can travel fast if he wants to disappear. The following months and seasons Geralt has kept his eyes open for his friend, his bard, his lover. He has heard a lot of his famous ballads sung by other bards, but unfortunately, Jaskier himself was very good at hiding and avoiding to meet Geralt ever again. Finally, Geralt has stopped searching for him because Jaskier evidently did not want to be found.

So there was neither an apology, a conversation nor a reconciliation between them.

And now it turns out Jaskier is here in the same town as him, maybe just a few steps away. What should he tell him after these years and years of silence? If Jaskier even wants to see him, not to mention speak to him?

Geralt takes his bag and swords and enters the tavern. Well, there is only one way to work this out.

*

With short breath Jaskier leans against the counter. On the other side of the table stands the fairylike Myra and cleans some cups with a cloth. She’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Good show so far, handsome. What can I get you?”

“A cup of wine would be wonderful, my dear. So you appreciate the performance?”

She hands him a small goblet full with red wine and he sips at it. Then, she turns back to rub the crockery, while she still eyes Jaskier up who’s drinking his wine carefully. His throat feels a bit dried-out, but he needs to keep it working for the rest of his songs.

“Your singing is amazing as always. I like your baritone pretty much.” She says with a smirk. Jaskier blinks and raises his goblet to her.

“Well, a lady with expert knowledge and interest in music then?”

She winks and leaves with a tray full of tankards with beer. Jaskier gazes her swaying hips by the time she’s passing. As she’s coming back she continues talking to him.

“By the way, you are not only a nice-looking bard, but also quite clever, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Jaskier looks at her, puzzled. “Yes, all right, then. Thanks.”

The woman snorts amused. “Bringing along your own Witcher.”

 _‘What the…?’_ Jaskier chokes on his wine and coughs before he freezes. His heart sinks abruptly to his stomach and jumps back to its right place. There was a Witcher? _Here?_ He has not seen him. These damned pubs with their tables in dark corners where everybody – especially Witchers who clearly seem to love these tables – could hide!

Myra continues, “You should definitely play _‘Toss a coin’._ I mean… Geralt of Rivia sitting in the corner, staring everybody witcher-ish and heroically down while you are singing about his dangerous adventures? I think you can make good… well… coin with it tonight.”

‘ _Oh, for fuck’s sake!’_ That has to be a joke. Jaskier stares onto the counter in front of him, and thinks about whether he should leave the tavern, hide under the table or walk straight to Geralt and smother him with kisses. If he is perfectly honest to himself he would unquestionably prefer the latter but in the same moment he is absolutely positive Geralt wouldn’t want that. Not with an old-looking and ailing man who has seen better days.

A small hand is shoving into his view and touching his forearm gently. “Everything all right, darling? You turned a bit pale.”

Jaskier shakes his head and clears his throat. Twice. “Um, no. I mean, yes, I’m all right. One hell of a surprise, right?” He chuckles almost hysterically. “Can I get another glass of wine? Please?” His voice cracks just a little.

The woman gives him a last concerned stare and refills his goblet. While she does, Jaskier tries to look around unflashy. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest and he breaks a sweat.

In the darkest corner of the tavern, as far away from the other guests as possible, Geralt has gotten a table all to himself. After he has brought his belongings to his room he has sat down here, his two swords right next to him, and waited, an ale and a platter full of food in front of him. Every once in a while the daughter of the innkeeper or another barmaid has placed a new ale in front of him.

All the time the bard’s delicate and yet heady scent fills his nose. Shortly after Geralt has finished eating, the scent has strengthened as Jaskier has come downstairs.

And now there he is. Geralt is watching his bard carefully. His body looks almost the same, he is slimly built and still wearing silken doublet and matching trousers. Jaskier is flirting with the barmaid – Geralt grins slightly – like in former times. Geralt hears with his Witcher senses that she calls him _handsome,_ and Geralt can undoubtedly confirm that.

Although Jaskier is in his late fifties, his look, his charismatic attitude and his joyful smile let him appear younger. His dark red clothing suits him very well and shows – in the same way like it has done years ago – enough of the body underneath to tickle anyone’s imagination. Unlike a decade ago Jaskier now wears a beard, and even though Geralt loathes having facial hair himself, he cannot help but notice that it simply looks perfect on Jaskier. It is neatly trimmed at the sides and maintains a clean line on the underside of the jaw so the beard wraps around just slightly.

The innkeeper’s daughter’s clear laugh rouses Geralt from his staring, and the woman shoos Jaskier away with one waving hand. He now takes his lute from his back and plunks it while he is walking self-confident as ever through the taproom.

He starts his performance with a hilarious – or quite silly in Geralt’s opinion – song about baiting a Succubus. Jaskier’s voice has almost the same smooth timbre as years ago, but it’s somewhat deeper than Geralt remembers.

Geralt grins and snorts about the lyrics. Who in the world would be so dumb trying to attract a Succubus? A love-crazed bard perhaps. But the audience in the tavern obviously knows and likes the song. Every time the chorus starts they join the singing loudly and mostly out of tune, but it doesn’t bother Jaskier at all and he rejoices at it.

After the audience has stopped clapping their hands, Jaskier now has all their attention and he plays one of his more ominous songs, _You think you’re safe._ It’s a story about monsters in the dark and the scary witches wandering between the normal people. Geralt notices that Jaskier changes the name of the town in the song from Posada to the one of this town and smiles about this clever trick.

“Play the song of Elaine Ettarial.” The innkeeper’s daughter shouts amid the loud applause of the other people. Some of them support her wish and cheer Jaskier to sing the song of the beautiful heroine named Ettarial. He bows slightly and plays it, his face pure joy.

Jaskier’s songs seem to cast a spell over the audience. They hang on his every word and sing along most of his songs. The atmosphere is wild until Jaskier announces that he needs a short break to catch some breath. The people whine about it so much that Jaskier plays one last ballad, _Elusive,_ and in the end, when he is shoving his lute back on his back and bowing his head, the whole tavern pauses for a moment and then the people start drinking, laughing and talking again.

Geralt gazes after Jaskier who is talking to the innkeeper’s daughter again. She comes to Geralt’s table to bring him another ale, he grunts a “Thanks.” and has a sip. He nearly chokes on his drink when he hears the barmaid saying his name to Jaskier a moment later at the bar. The bard looks nervous, but tries to act normal. Yet, Geralt can smell in his sweat that Jaskier is flustered and curious.

Up until now he still hasn’t seen the Witcher, but as Jaskier comes back from the bar glancing around (but pretending badly not to do so) he almost instantly looks in Geralt’s direction and him straight in the eye. Geralt puts on a – what he thinks – pleasant smile and nods once, but the way Jaskier turns even paler and taking his lute with trembling hands indicates that is was anything but pleasant.

Geralt grumbles and listens to the songs Jaskier is playing now. He starts with _Her sweet kiss_ and although he has sung it a million times without any mistake, the bard’s voice quavers every now and then. The other guests in the tavern notice nothing; they sing and cheer and as soon as one song ends they wish for one more.

Late in this evening, Jaskier announces his last song, his famous ballad _The stars above the Path_ , but the audience complains loudly, some folks with slurred voice, and wishes for another far-famed song. Some of the townsfolk look into the Witcher’s direction with a respectful or even fearful glint in their eyes. Geralt grunts, puts on a solemn face and gazes into the distance. Of course they all want to hear _Toss a coin_.

At first Jaskier doesn’t say anything, then he tries to convince the people with winsome words from the ballad he has chosen. The audience understands Jaskier’s attempts to persuade them as challenge to beg for _Toss a coin_ even more. Their chanting of the song’s title ends when Geralt says in his low but yet well audible voice, “Get a move on, bard, and play the fucking song.” Then he raises his glass to Jaskier and takes a deep gulp of his ale.

The guests around him are singing along this darn Witcher-song. At times, Jaskier’s gaze darts to the dark corner and the man with the amber eyes sitting there and sipping his beverage.

When the song ends, Jaskier bows again and again until the applause subsides slowly. Afterwards he wanders the tables to collect coin, speeches of praise and sweet talk, but he’s doing it less silver-tongued and charming than normally. All the time he feels Geralt’s piercing look in his back. Jaskier takes his now well-filled pocket, and he is in a hurry to leave the room. The moment he turns to the bar and the nearby stairs, he hears the pleasing grumble of his formerly Witcher’s voice.

“You perhaps want to join me for a beer or two?”

Jaskier stops in the midst of his movement. There is an unusual hint of unease in Geralt’s voice. He sounds… cautious, almost like he expects Jaskier would ignore him and leave. That undertone leads to the bard clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. He then spins around on his heels, strolls to Geralt’s table and stands still right next to it. A hopefully confident as well as fetching smile appears on his face.

“Hello dear, I love how you sit in this dark corner all alone and brood.”

Geralt looks up to him, seems to study his face and finally shows a faint smile in the corner of his mouth. Jaskier leans his lute against the table and sits down in front of him. For a while both of them don’t say a word, try to look each other in the face and avoid it at the same time. Jaskier feels oddly timidly, Geralt appears to be as calm as ever.

They get interrupted in their meanwhile unpleasant silence when Myra brings a goblet with wine and sets it on the table in front of Jaskier. She gives both men a more than broad grin, her eyes twinkle just _knowing._

“It’s on the house, handsome. Your performance was dazzling as usual, everybody could feel the… passion.” As she leaves, she winks at Jaskier.

Geralt cocks an eyebrow in his special way and the bard blushes around his nose.

“Um, so, what are you doing around here in Temeria?” Jaskier asks randomly just to say anything, sipping his wine.

“Wandering the Path.” Geralt grumbles brusquely.

“I see. The same big, old loner with…” Jaskier nods in the direction of Geralt’s blades. “…two very scary-looking swords.”

“Jaskier. I want to apologize.” Geralt interrupts him and leans over, his hand reaches forward, but stops halfway and comes to rest awkwardly in the middle of the table. Jaskier blinks, unasked questions in his gaze, and starts to talk himself.

“I’ve to make _my_ apology. I shouldn’t have made such a hasty departure and I shouldn’t have left you without any word.” Jaskier babbles quickly without taking breath. “Yes, you were perhaps, or more precisely, definitely overdramatic in what you said to me, your humble bard, but on the other hand it wasn’t completely wrong.”

Geralt begins to say something, but Jaskier just keeps talking. Eventually, he hits with his fist onto the table. Jaskier jumps a little on his chair, his wine almost spills over the table. The other guests and barmaids glance shortly at them, but the bard finally shuts up.

“No. There is nothing you have to apologize for. I was a fucking asshole to you and you…” His voice fades and he clears his throat. “Please forgive me, Jaskier.” Geralt stops talking and stares into his ale, lips compressed to a thin line.

Jaskier just gapes at the Witcher. Lastly, he finds his voice. “Geralt.” Now, he definitely wants to smother Geralt’s loveable face with kisses, but he holds back.

“Of course I forgive you. First of all, it wasn’t your fault alone. Secondly… it’s been a very long time. Yes, I was really mad at you in the beginning.” Jaskier shrugs. “Days became weeks and then months. Moreover, I’ve started teaching in Oxenfurt.” Geralt nods as if he already knows that. _Interesting._ They had so much to talk about, there probably are a ton of heroic stories from Geralt’s hunts.

Jaskier focusses upon Geralt and takes some time to finally look at him, _really_ look at him. The still in his tankard staring man in front of him seems to be the same remarkable good-looking Witcher as over a decade ago. And he still attracts Jaskier as hell.

He’s feeling his pulse quicken and his face heat up. Possibly Geralt doesn’t notice anything.

The Witcher’s head jerks upwards, his nostrils twitch subtly and just for a moment. A knowing expression flashes in his eyes.

 _Great!_ Jaskier takes a long sip of his wine.

“Do you have a room here?” Geralt asks, straightforward as ever.

 _As if you doesn’t know already._ “Yes, I have.” Jaskier raises his glass to Geralt with a crooked smile. “Perhaps we could continue our conversation in a more… private ambiance. There are acts of heroism and songs which are not meant for everyone’s ears, would you agree to that, dear Witcher?” His voice is a soft murmur.

“Hm.” Geralt raises one eyebrow again, then he empties his ale in one gulp. “Lead the way, bard.” The warm shimmer in his eyes redeems the sharpness of his words.

Jaskier empties his beverage, too, takes his pocket and lute and straps the latter to his back. Some of the guests greet him while he’s passing by, and quickly look away as soon as they spot the man following the bard.

Unnoticed from both Jaskier and Geralt, Myra gazes amused after both men hastening to go upstairs. Maybe they think they act cautiously, but as soon as the sun rises everybody in town will know with dead certainty that the bard Jaskier is with his White Wolf again.

*

“Despite the circumstances tonight the performance really succeeded. Have you heard them singing?” Jaskier is in his element yet again, babbling and laughing. He lets out a happy little huff and opens the door to his room. “After all this years they still love this song. And you…” With the tinkling pocket in his hand he turns to Geralt gesticulating approvingly. “…you were brilliant as always.”

He puts the pocket on a table and pulls the strap of his lute over his head. He leans the instrument against the wall and turns to Geralt who has followed him through the room and stands quite near him. Jaskier feels the adrenaline rush in his blood.

“I didn’t do anything brilliant. Yet.” The amber of Geralt’s eyes glows in the dim light. They stand so close to each other that Jaskier could touch Geralt’s chest. He bites his lip nervously and takes one step back. There is the cool wall behind him. The bard studies Geralt and whispers more that he is speaking loudly with his face turning a little pink, “You are continuously brilliant, Witcher.”

With a “Hmm.” Geralt closes the gap between them and puts one hand on Jaskier’s hip.  
Jaskier starts talking quickly again. “Don’t you think there is, um, more to discuss in our situation? What have you done, what have I done, you know, just the highlights from wandering alone over ten years.”

“Mhm. Tomorrow we take the time for that.” Geralt strokes Jaskier’s hip as light as a feather. Jaskier hums consensually.

He feels his heartbeat quicken and lays his palms on Geralt’s shoulders. It’s obvious he couldn’t hold Geralt back no matter how hard he tries, but Geralt reacts immediately. He’s pulling back a little, his hand still on Jaskier’s hip, and watches the bard’s face mindfully.

“Anything else?”

“I… um… I…” Jaskier feels almost giddy with the smell and warmth of Geralt’s body so close. He closes his eyes to focus, but now his other senses seem to sharpen. There is the bewitching smell of clean skin with a musky undertone, the odor of leather and steel and… a faint of an aromatic oil? However, he smells wonderful.

“You?” Because of his deep voice Geralt’s shoulders vibrate under Jaskier’s fingers. The bard opens his eyes again and clears his throat.

“I… I mean, do you really want to do this? Clearly, I’m a different man now than in the old days, and… and you are still the same strong warrior …with all...“ He squeezes his fingers involuntarily into Geralt’s shoulders. “…these oh so lovely muscles and, I mean, look at you!” He pauses and sighs. “And look at me!”

A warm smile appears on Geralt’s face and he cocks a brow. “Jaskier.” He says with a grumbling voice with this ‘ _Stop talking nonsense and shut up only for once.’_ -undertone. “I watched you the whole night. You are the same man as ever. And I want to fuck your brain out as ever.”

Jaskier relaxes visibly. Concurrently his face blushes, and he feels his cock twitching at these words. His hands start stroking Geralt and one hand wanders from the shoulder to the neck, to the white long hair and embeds into it. He gives Geralt an inviting cheeky smirk.

“Fine. In that case… Please, don’t hold back, my dearest Witcher.” Geralt hesitates shortly at these words. These words, except the flowery addressing, have been almost like a ritual in their past. Every now and then one of them has used them to bow completely to the other man, and if he wants he can take what is offered.

Geralt nods, and with a lusty glint in his eyes he leans against Jaskier with enough of his weight that the bard gasps a little. One big hand comes to rest on the side of Jaskier’s throat and on his jawline. With a light pull their faces are brought together and their lips meet. It’s somewhat of a shy kiss in the beginning, but the more Jaskier relaxes the more Geralt claims, and Jaskier finally opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Geralt grumbles contented.

His tongue enters Jaskier’s mouth and explores the warmth. His hand on Jaskier’s hip strokes him yearning and pulls the man even closer so that he senses the massive bulge in front of the Witcher’s trousers. The bard moans against Geralt’s mouth. His hands slide to Geralt’s chest and stroke it; he feels the warm muscles and the slow heartbeat through the fabric. The body under his palms moves away shortly, Geralt breaks the kiss to take his shirt off. A second later he is back, bare skin meeting bare skin. Jaskier utters a pleased sigh.

Geralt puts one hand onto Jaskier’s hip again, the other onto the collarbone, the thumb stroking the skin.

“Give me your throat.”

Jaskier is thrilled to obey and lifts his chin to present his soft skin. His head falls back against the warm hand which is now resting in his hair. The short moment before he closes his eyes he can see the more than satisfied expression on Geralt’s face. Warm breath and lips touch his skin and caress it. After a few kisses he feels a piercing pain when the Witcher bites him. He bites him again and again, harder every time. Jaskier expresses a long whimper mixed with some babbled _please, Geralt, please, yes_ and in the end his fingers twitch unwittingly and he scratches Geralt’s sides a little.

Geralt licks the aching body sites and kisses them softly, turns Jaskier’s head to the other side and repeats the procedure. Jaskier’s hands clench harder around Geralt’s waist until Geralt stops his kissing and biting. His hand in the bard’s hair tightens its grip.

“Let go of my waist.” He murmurs with a husky voice into Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier shivers, then follows the order slowly, not without stroking the skin provocative gently one last time.

Geralt tugs Jaskier on his hair away from the wall and pushes him down to the ground on his knees. He lets go of his hair and slides his hand under the other man’s chin, one thumb stroking the bottom lip. He locks eyes with Jaskier.

“Open up for me.” He leans casually against the wall and hums approvingly when Jaskier opens his mouth, his eyes still looking straight into Geralt’s. He pushes his thumb between the lips and the warm tongue licks it hesitantly. Jaskier starts playing with and sucking the finger, closing his eyes. After a while he hears what sounds like the unbuckling of a belt. The next moment the thumb leaves him and something warm and far bigger slips into his mouth.

Jaskier immediately closes his lips firmly around Geralt’s cock and starts sucking. He gently twists his tongue around the shaft, tasting the heavy, salty and delicious flavor of his Witcher eventually again. He moves his head up and down, clutches one hand at the base of the cock and starts stroking it in the same rhythm. Geralt groans low, one hand rests on Jaskier’s head again. When he hears the groan, Jaskier’s own cock twitches again. He is fully hard by now but he suppresses the impulse to touch himself.

Geralt slaps the hand at his dick away, moves Jaskier’s head with his own hand now and sets a quicker pace. His groaning intensifies. Jaskier tries to take everything Geralt is giving him, but he cannot resist the urge to gag from time to time on the sheer size of the cock in his mouth. Geralt doesn’t seem to care at all, and because of that Jaskier gets turned on even more.

“You won’t spit anything out I give you, will you?” Geralt pants the words out between his pushes. His bard shakes his head as good as possible, and already a few seconds later Geralt spills into Jaskier’s mouth with a deeply satisfied grunt.

Jaskier feels the convulsions of Geralt’s prick and tastes the salty, slightly bitter fluid in the back of his mouth. Shortly afterwards Geralt slowly withdraws his still completely hard cock. As he leaves Jaskier’s mouth, he bends down and puts one huge hand over lips and nose of the other man, looking him dead in the eye.

“Swallow.” He commands and Jaskier’s doing his best to obey, but it’s not easy to gulp the thick fluid. He gags a little again, but finally his mouth is empty. His heartbeat throbs heavily in his temples, he has spent almost all of his air. Jaskier gives Geralt a nod. Shortly before he starts to panic, Geralt removes his hand.

“Good, Jaskier.” Geralt strokes his cheek gently while the bard gasps for breath. A happy smile appears on Jaskier’s face, but before he can take a rest Geralt kisses him deeply and passionately. Geralt pulls simultaneously at Jaskier’s arm to help him get up. Jaskier breaks the kiss.

“Love, I won’t get on my feet soon. Firstly, because I cannot feel either my feet or my legs, and secondly, but most importantly, because I’m an aged man whose only sporting activity normally looks like that I’m scurrying from my home to university and back. So, I beg your pardon that I need some… wha-, Geralt!” The circumlocutory addressed man sighs in amusement and simply yanks the surprised panting Jaskier onto his feet, changes his grip and gives him a lift on his shoulders.

“It’s all right, old man. I got this.” The bastard has the nerve to additionally pat Jaskier softly on the butt. Jaskier murmurs something about where Geralt should put his sassy responses, hopefully silently enough the Witcher cannot hear him. But Geralt’s rumbling chuckle enlightens him.

Finally, Geralt drops Jaskier a bit rougher than necessary down onto the bed and bends over him to knead his feet and legs. His little bard shouldn’t get any ideas that he, Geralt, is done with him. Jaskier still smells delicately of sexual craving and his blue eyes watching him eagerly. Geralt stops the massage, clutches Jaskier’s ankle and drags the man closer. He strokes the by now deep red bruises on Jaskier’s throat and the other man shivers cozily.

“Ready for more?” Geralt’s mutter almost a seductive purr. In response Jaskier takes Geralt’s face between his hands and presses a kiss on his lips.

“I’m glad you’re asking, White Wolf. Come and get me.”

Instead of crawling onto the bed, Geralt stands up. His pale skin seems to glow a little, the medallion on his bare chest reflects the light of the fireplace. Jaskier watches him with a rapturous look, and as he apprehends the demand to undress, he follows it without hesitation.

“Lay onto your back and touch yourself.” Geralt observes every movement and every sound Jaskier does while he undresses himself, strolls to his bag and searches for oil. Many years ago he has learned from no less than Jaskier that a generous amount of oil makes every sexual encounter even better, and he has never changed that mannerism.  
Jaskier’s breath comes heavily now. Without looking to the bed, Geralt takes the glass vial from his bag and says incidentally. “Stop it.”

The miserable whimper in response is more satisfying for Geralt than any ballad Jaskier has ever played. He turns around and looks at the scenery in front of him. The fully hard and naked bard lies on the bed, has indeed stopped stroking himself, bites his lip hard and watches the Witcher pleadingly.

Geralt smirks with the corner of his mouth, grumbles and comes back to the bed with the glass vial. He kneels down between Jaskier’s legs, spreading them, and puts some oil on his palms. Then he starts stroking Jaskier’s cock with a firm grip. The bard moans, closes his eyes, but reopens them as Geralt bends his legs upwards to his chest and tells him to hold them there.

The next moment Geralt slips one finger into Jaskier’s bottom hole, moving back and forth. Suddenly Jaskier convulses in pleasure and moans loudly; Geralt has nudged the perfect swollen spot inside of him. He’s now doing it again and again while he is stroking Jaskier's cock. Geralt slips another finger inside and fucks the bard with it. Jaskier utters little whimpers followed by _Please, Oh yes_ and _Don’t stop._

After a while Jaskier starts trembling, he seems close to his edge. That’s the moment where Geralt stops the stroking and drags his fingers out. Jaskier shouts out irritated, his hand darts to his cock, but Geralt pushes it away.

“No. You didn’t fly high enough yet.”

“Please, let me come. Please, Geralt, give me more.” Jaskier whimpers and begs, he cannot stand the pleasure. Because Geralt just looks at him with a lusty grin, Jaskier tries to provoke him and pushes him with one foot. “Come on, Witcher, fuck me already, I know you want it. Give in to the temptation.” He moves his hips in a very obvious way.  
Geralt takes the glass vial, drips oil onto his cock and strokes it. He doesn’t move an inch from the toes poorly tapping onto his chest.

Jaskier’s voice changes back to purring and begging because his bloody Witcher isn’t easy to provoke. “Please, take what you want, fuck me, please.”

Eventually, Geralt simply slaps the foot away, reaches for Jaskier’s hips and heaves him on his stomach. “Your wish is my command.” Jaskier is able to hear the salacious grin in his voice.

Geralt kneads the buttcheeks in front of him, spreads them, then he presses the tip of his cock against Jaskier’s hole and pushes inside. He doesn’t do it rapidly, if not necessarily slowly. Inch by inch he enters Jaskier and stretches him wide open. The bard whimpers, moans and sobs, all at once. His near-continuous babbling fills the air. The musky scent of pleasure sloshes over Geralt and he feels dizzy from it.

Finally, their hips meet, Geralt gives Jaskier a moment to get used to the prick in his ass. He uses the moment to bend over him, nibble at his shoulder.

“Oh gods, I forgot how someone of your size feels.” Jaskier groans. Geralt moves his hips back and forth once and the groan intensifies.

“I help you to remember.” Geralt straightens himself, cups Jaskier’s hips, pulls himself halfway out and thrusts in again. He’s setting the steady hard pace both of them once have loved, and fucks his bard properly.

Jaskier arches his back and moans ecstatically, buries his face into the pillow to muffle his groaning. Geralt pants with pleasure, shoves his hands up to Jaskier’s upper back and his shoulder and pins him down, he puts his whole strength into his thrusts.

Jaskier starts trembling und sobs loudly, Geralt suddenly sniffs the salty smell of tears under the lustily scent and stops his movement, his cock still balls deep inside of Jaskier. He bends over the man, chest to back, his hand on the shoulder stroking Jaskier tenderly.

“Hey. Jaskier, what’s the matter?” Geralt asks with calm, caring voice.

Jaskier just sobs even more, shaking his head. Geralt starts pulling out so he can turn his bard around and tug him into his arms. Whatever is going on needs to be untangled now.

As soon as Jaskier notices the movement his head jolts up and he gasps between two sobs. “No. Don’t you dare leaving me. We… we haven’t finished yet.” He clutches at Geralt’s arm next to him.

Geralt watches Jaskier closely, not sure what’s happening here. „Jaskier, you are crying. Tell me, what upsets you.”

Jaskier blushes and eventually sighs. “It’s just stupid. Having you inside, feeling you after all these years… my body started to express in its own way. I couldn’t control myself, I really tried.”

Geralt listens silently, then asks. “You are telling me, you started crying because the fucking felt _too_ good?”

Jaskier murmurs, his sobbing has stopped. “Yes, as it seems.”

“Hm.” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s neck and his cock twitches inside of Jaskier, what results in a shy moan as response. “All right, then. If you want to cry again while we’re fucking…”

“… then I’ll do and everything is good. Otherwise I’ll tell you, I promise.” Jaskier finishes the sentence impatiently. “Now, do you have the kindness to proceed with our undertaking? It’s courtesy to finish what you’ve started.” He pushes his hips up against Geralt’s lap and changes the angle how they touch.

Geralt growls and starts moving again. His cock brushes the magical spot inside of Jaskier with every deep thrust and the bard’s whole body starts shaking.

Geralt cups one hand around Jaskier’s throat and holds the man in place while he is pounding into him. He’s feeling the vibration under his fingers when Jaskier is moaning, begging for more or calling Geralt’s name. He eventually starts crying again. It’s a calm sobbing at first, but after a few more thrusts the tears run down his face. It’s hard, but Geralt manages to ignore the tears and doesn’t slow down his pace.

Jaskier closes his eyes, but the tears still stream through his lashes. Besides the banging sound Geralt’s and his own hips make when they meet, he hears Geralt’s low groaning near his ear. All together is bringing Jaskier close to his edge. The pleasure rolls through him like waves breaking on the shore, rising with every second. He sees stars in front of his mind’s eye and moans salaciously.

Lost in a whirl of emotions and sensation, he almost misses Geralt’s voice, interrupted by his own heavy breaths. “Now come for me.”

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice. He yelps, bis eyes rolling in their sockets and his orgasm floods over him. A moment later Geralt bites his shoulder and follows Jaskier with a long, low grunt.

Jaskier revives with a deep sigh, still resting naked on the bed. Under his stomach he can sense his thick spent and between his thighs Geralt’s. Jaskier doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he feels observed. He blinks and recognizes Geralt laying right next to him, one arm under his head, watching his bard.

“What happened?” Jaskier asks sleepily. “Is it morning already?”

Geralt chuckles deeply. “No. It’s still night. Your whole body was shaking and shivering when you came and then you just wanted to lay there and breathe. So I let you be. Are you all right?”

“Oh… um… yes, I absolutely am, thanks to you, love.” Jaskier mumbles and blinks repeatedly to keep his eyes open. “Regarding our conversation…” He yawns.

“Tomorrow. You can sleep now.”

Jaskier nods lightly, rolls over and snuggles against Geralt’s warm chest.

“Tomorrow.” He agrees.

He’s already sleeping when Geralt covers them with a blanket, puts an arm around his bard and kisses his neck gently. Both men fall to blissful sleep, a smile on their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue, please have mercy if you find mistakes. ;-)
> 
> Thanks to Lafoga for betareading.


End file.
